


The Balancer's Eye

by reijaberyl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco Malfoy, Canon Divergence, Flashbacks, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Mpreg, Obliviation, Other, POV Multiple, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Pre-Battle of Hogwarts, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Time Skips, Top Harry Potter, Wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-05-19 05:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19350838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reijaberyl/pseuds/reijaberyl
Summary: ‘‘It was a surprise to absolutely no one that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter ended up together. Draco ought to feel more offended for that, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.The thing was, Draco was completely aware that falling in love with Harry Potter was the stupidest course of action to take.So of course that was the first thing he did. In both Hogwarts and Post-Hogwarts era.’’Sixteen years after the war that shook the entire Wizarding Community apart, Harry Potter is trying to find a sense of purpose when a mission goes awry. After an unexpected encounter with Draco Malfoy (former Death Eater turned spy for the Light and Harry's self-proclaimed nemesis) brings his feelings to the surface, Harry realizes that Draco seems to be the only one who can light the fire within him. Neither of them can explain why they can't stay away from each other, why they both seem to have a large piece of their life in pieces, and why the final piece of the puzzle appears to be a young orphaned girl who knows absolutely nothing about her origins.(Previously named ''Renegades'')





	1. Punching In The Wind

**Author's Note:**

> STORY TITLE FROM ''THE BALANCER'S EYE'' BY LORD HURON
> 
> Chapter title from '' Organs'' by Of Monsters And Men
> 
> Hello!
> 
> This is the second story I've ever posted here, and it's also the first I've deemed lenghty enough to publish. I'd like to talk a little bit about how the story is written. 
> 
> When I was thinking about how I'd like to develop this, I always had in mind the fact that I wanted it to be settled in Hogwarts Sixth Year, but also in a Post-Second War era settlement. My only doubt was wheter I'd divide it in one whole fic and then write and subsequently publish the post war era fic, or just mixing them together, and after thinking it through, I thought, why not do both? 
> 
> That being said, the story is based in the years 1997-1998 and 2014-2015 as of now. It will alternate between time skips, which will be separared with these three little stars *** so you'll notice when a time skip happens. However, in certain parts, the story skips to some other character or place in the same year, and that will be separated with these |||. I wanted to put that out in the open to evade the confusion it would most likely cause. Also, this fic has an mpreg focus, so if that's not your piece of cake, you should probably not read. I want to clarify that I do not own any of the characters in the Harry Potter Series. I will be changing some of the things that are already canon so I can make the story work, and I am no expert in the series, so if you find any mistakes that don't make sense with how the story flows, feel free to point them out so I can fix them. I also extend my respect to J.K. Rowling for her work: I admire her deeply. 
> 
> ''The Balancer's Eye'' is also being posted by me at the same time in Wattpad, under the same username (bluemadhouse). I will be adding more tags as the story develops and will mention it if I make any changes. For now, I hope you enjoy the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Any kudos and comments will be appreciated! 
> 
> My thanks, 
> 
> K.

 

**‘‘May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears’’ Nelson Mandela.**

*******

_Hogwarts Castle. January 1997._

Harry could hear the soft sound of raindrops hitting the outer walls of the castle when he walked out of the Gryffindor common room. The hallways were mostly dark, barely lit by some candles, but the oil lamp he held tightly helped light the way for him. He wasn’t likely to get lost, though, because he knew the path by memory now. It was the hospital wing that he was visiting, after all.

It was a long walk to get there but somehow, it only helped the tension fill his body once more as he struggled against his desire to make amends or to bolt and run back to the safety of his own bed. It was needless to say that apologizing… had never been Harry’s forte.  However, in this case he deemed it more than necessary.

After using _Sectumsempra_ against Malfoy in Myrtle's bathroom, and the scolding that followed after doing so, Harry spent the next three nights after the incident thinking about the consequences of his actions, which resulted in some soul searching. He’d almost _killed_ someone. That simple realization caused the bile to rise up strongly to his throat, and Harry had to hold his head in his hands for a few moments to avoid vomiting in the hallway that lead to the hospital wing of Hogwarts.

Draco Malfoy, for his many faults and wrong-doings, who despite being a total prat most of the time and who was most definitely a Death Eater, did not deserve to die, and much less at Harry’s hands, so with that thought in mind, he decided to wait until Malfoy was discharged from St. Mungo’s and into the hospital wing for further rest to resume classes the day after that. Thank Millicent Bulstrode (who had heard from Pansy Parkinson) for the knowledge that he’d arrived today. And Harry, aware that Malfoy would only avoid his presence in classes and on Hogwarts grounds if he talked to him there, decided do it this way, although he did try to talk himself out of it a few times.

The memory of Malfoy lying on a pool of his own blood, face twisted in total pain as he tried to hold his chest to keep the blood from flowing out, made his stomach churn. He’d never wished death upon anyone, and the knowledge that he’d been about to do it... No. This definitely deserved an apology, though he wouldn’t blame Malfoy if he decided to take revenge on him. And even if he doubted that asking for forgiveness would put his mind at ease, he knew he had to do it, so he gathered what courage he had left to keep going.

Throwing his invisibility cloak over his head, he exhaled a trembling sigh and let his feet move forward, being careful enough that his footsteps didn’t echo enough to wake Madame Pomfrey, for if she (or any professor, for that matter) found him awake and out of his dormitory at this time of night, the punishment they gave him would be added to the now permanent detentions with professor Snape, and he didn’t really look forward to that.

With that thought in mind, Harry stopped in front of the entrance to the hospital wing and muttered, ‘‘ _Aberto,_ ’’ and so the massive wooden doors opened. Harry looked inside to confirm that Madame Pomfrey was nowhere near. After casting _Muffliato_ so she wouldn’t come snooping (honestly, that woman had a sixth sense for unwanted visitors), he made his way into the room and searched from bed to bed in the infirmary, which was surprisingly empty except for Malfoy.  

Harry was surprised to see that he was sitting with a book perched on his lap, and that he seemed completely entranced by it. Taking a deep breath, he walked back behind the privacy screen to take off his cloak; the last thing he wanted was to give the other boy a heart attack. He ran his hands through his hair and composed himself before making himself visible and cleared his throat.

‘‘Malfoy. ’’ Harry called, biting the insides of his cheeks to keep his nerves at bay.

The boy in question took a sharp breath and his gray eyes flickered to meet his own. ‘‘Potter? ’’ He asked, and his grip on the book visibly tightened. ‘‘What on earth are you doing here? ’’ Harry briefly recoiled. He’d been expecting an outburst, not the confused look he got in return.

He licked his chapped lips to give him an answer. ‘‘I… I’ve been meaning to apologize to you, Malfoy.’’ He muttered. ‘‘About what happened in Myrtle’s bathroom? ’’

Malfoy raised his eyebrow. ‘‘Whatever do you mean, Potter? Is this about you almost killing me? ’’ Ah, and there he was.

Harry didn’t let his attitude deter him.  ‘‘Yes, it is. ’’ He deadpanned. ‘‘I truly didn’t know what that spell did. If I had… I wouldn’t have even considered using it… ’’

‘‘Even against me? ’’ Malfoy scoffed. He looked around the tiny space until his eyes found his wand, but it was too far for him to reach and grab it. _And even if he could_ , Harry thought, _all of his energy is currently going to healing his wounds._ ‘‘Save it, Potter. I actually went as far as to almost casting an Unforgivable on you. Does it excuse what you did to me? Absolutely not, but it’s best not to dwell on it. ’’ He bellowed, and then held his book up in the air. ‘‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was a little bit busy. ’’

Harry could swear that he felt as all his blood rushed to his face. His nostrils flared as he looked up to the ceiling and wondered why the hell he’d thought that coming here was a good idea. Malfoy had always been the best person to make his blood boil and to enrage him the fastest, after all. However, he was already here, and he’d be damned if he left without accomplishing what he’d come here to do.

Taking a deep breath again, he carefully considered his next words and looked at his self-proclaimed nemesis in the eye. ‘‘Look, Malfoy…’’ Harry spoke slowly. ‘‘We’ve never seen eye to eye, and I don’t think that we will ever get to that point. Nonetheless, death is something that I’ve never wished upon anyone, not even _you_. ’’ He declared strongly. ‘‘That’s why I’m right here, and trust me, swallowing my pride has never been easier.’’

For a moment, Harry thought that he was about to get hexed for annoying the git, but Malfoy only rolled his eyes. He didn’t particularly have the strength to fight right now. ‘‘Ever the Gryffindor, huh?’’ He quipped, though it seemed that his heart wasn’t really in the jab. ‘‘Get on with it, then. If it’ll give you some peace of mind.’’

‘‘I’m sorry, Malfoy. ’’ Harry said as Malfoy looked straight into his eyes. ‘‘I’m sorry for stalking you this whole year. I’m sorry for barging in on you that day, and for attacking you afterwards when you were so obviously upset about something. ’’ He bit his lip nervously. ‘‘But most of all, I’m so fucking sorry that I used a curse I wasn’t familiar with on you, and subsequently, for almost killing you.’’

Malfoy’s face had closed off slowly as Harry spoke, and he was playing with his hands, which now seemed very interesting. Now that he could look at him clearly and paid close attention to the blond, Harry recalled that he had looked like that ever since sixth year started: very dark circles under his eyes, thinner than he’d ever been under all those layers he wore, anxious and jumpy at every single loud sound that reverberated within the castle’s walls…

The suspicions that had arisen in Harry’s mind for the best part of last year (and the present year) appeared once again as he bear witness to Malfoy’s attitude.

‘‘Malfoy –Draco. ’’ Harry corrected himself. ‘‘Is everything okay with you? ’’ He asked tentatively.

The boy snapped out of his haze and gathered enough strength to glare at him. ‘‘Is it, Potter?’’ He spat with venom. ‘‘Have you forgotten which side of the war I’m supposed to be on, or are we just going to keep playing this game? Because this, Potter? I think it’s something even you, as daft as you can be, would have noticed.’’

‘‘It’s the reason I’m asking!’’ Harry exclaimed. ‘‘Why else do you think I’ve been following you all this time, Malfoy? For the sheer pleasure of seeing your face?’’

‘‘It is a good face, isn’t it?’’ Malfoy sneered, and Harry almost retaliated, but then the other boy deflated and passed his hands through his face numerous times in frustration. He shook his head before he spoke again. ‘‘Some things are better left alone, Potter.’’

Before he could talk himself out of it, Harry lingered besides the chair alongside Draco’s bed. ‘‘Whatever it is… I could help you.’’

Something flickered through Malfoy’s face, but it disappeared as soon as it had come. ‘‘No, you can’t.’’ He scoffed humorlessly. ‘‘Not this time, don’t you understand? This goes way beyond any of us.’’

‘‘Have you forgotten who I am? Or who Dumbledore is?’’ He asked the same way Malfoy had asked a few moments ago. ‘‘Malfoy, I don’t know the extent of what you’ve been through, same as you don’t know me. I know a lot is on the line, and I am perfectly aware of what You-Know-Who is capable of, so what is it that scares you so much? Why does he have such a tight hold on you?’’

‘‘As if I could ever forget! Saint Potter, always to the rescue, aren’t you?’’ Malfoy bellowed. Harry watched intently as the other boy closed his eyes to stop the tears from falling. After a few moments of silence, when he calmed down, he opened his eyes again. ‘‘My mother.’’ The boy admitted finally. ‘‘She will be killed if I fail to do what he asked me. And I cannot lose her, Potter, do you understand? She’s the only one…’’ He trailed off, and Harry grudgingly realized that he didn’t trust him to know the full details.

‘’What about your father?’’ Harry asked, not beating around the bush.

Something invaded Malfoy’s face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. ‘‘He is in Azkaban, Potter, and even then, he dares not cross _him_ , not even for his family. I… I don’t know if he ever will.’’

‘’And you?’’ Harry asked again. ‘‘A long time ago I thought you were a coward, Malfoy. What about now? Are you?’’ He challenged, and stood up when he noticed that the blond was gripping the white sheets so tightly his knuckles whitened. ‘‘I’ll leave you to rest now, but please think about it. And remember, Malfoy. The choices we make define us.’’ Sensing a confrontation, Harry started walking away, but before he put his cloak on, he opened his mouth to speak again. ‘‘I only hope you choose what is truly best for both you and your mother. It’s never too late.’’ And with that, he left, leaving his fellow classmate lost in his thoughts.

 

 ***

_The Bona Fide Orphanage. London, November 2014._

Lyra May didn’t truly know much, or so Mr. Biville had told her. That was why she kept a list of the things she was most certainly aware of: she knew her parents abandoned her when she was barely a helpless baby, she knew how to maintain a house squeaky clean at all times, she knew how to knit and hunt and cook, and most important of all, she knew that thanks to the fact that no one ever adopted her, once she turned seventeen years old, she’d be out in the streets without a dime nor a place to stay.

Not that she was going to encounter much worse when she found herself homeless. Surely anything was better than what she’d been through in the orphanage for about ten years.

Now, with a month left before her birthday, she had to start making preparations. Lyra had started saving what little money she earned when she turned twelve and learned the proper charms to hide it from the owner of the orphanage, Roldan Biville, who had been born a squib and whose magical education left much to wish for.

Children like her didn’t receive letters of acceptance to Hogwarts. And even in those remote cases in which they did, chances were they could never afford it. They were orphans, after all. And although there had been some capable professors in Bona Fide when Mrs. Eleanor was alive, the ones that taught there now were either useless or thought that teaching seventh year classes to one single person was not worth their time. Thanks to that fact, the orphan’s schooling would never be enough to help them grow out there if, like in her own case, they remained under Roldan’s tutelage until they were of age. When Lyra came to terms with that fact, she’d learned all she could by herself, slipping into the library late at night to gather as much information as time allowed her. It wasn’t much, but she was proud of the knowledge she had and planned to make the best of it.

That was why she stood in Mr. Biville’s office, which was not as uninteresting and dull as he was, thanks to Mrs. Biville’s (who was Roldan’s mother) input all those years ago. It was truly a most fascinating piece of work: an hexagonal room with three large windows and a view to the front garden. The ceiling, high and adorned with elegant ornaments typical of the Gothic style, had a large chandelier fully made of glass hanging from the center of it, but none of its candles were lit, giving the office a cold and eerie environment that made her heart constrict in her chest. The family tapestry was perched upon one of the walls, and on the other, there were numerous portraits of the deceased members of the Biville lineage, including Eleanor Biville as well, but all of them charmed to keep quiet and refrain from making any comment whatsoever regarding Roldan’s treatment towards the children. She’d been there more times than she could count, whether it was for cleaning it or to receive some kind of punishment for something she was unable to help, like accidental displays of magic typical of a child.

There was an imposing claw footed desk made out of mahogany wood located in front of the windows. Sitting on the chair behind it, was Roldan Biville.

The man, who was thin and sharp around his edges, looked at her as she was merely scum on the soles of his shoes. ‘‘Are you actually aware,’’ Roldan asked with one eyebrow raised, ‘‘that you have absolutely no qualifications or talents whatsoever? Who the hell in their right mind would give a job to you?’’

Lyra’s first instinct was to flinch at the accusation, but she contained it. ‘‘I am perfectly aware.’’ She answered in a monotone voice, refraining from saying a biting remark like she was used to. ‘‘However, to not find myself hopeless when the time comes, I would like to at least try. _That’s_ what the Ministry’s social worker said, did he not? You, Mr. Biville, are to help and guide me to find my way outside of Bona Fide when I come of age. Why not do it before then?’’

Roldan caressed his bearded chin in thought. Lyra kept staring at him, waiting. His bright red hair in contrast to his pale skin gave him a creepy kind of look that, to this day, still managed to frighten her. ‘‘Well, if it means you will be out of my sight sooner, I don’t see why not. But when you come back every night until you find a job, you shall carry your chores to perfection, understood?’’ He squinted his clear blue eyes at her and looked at her in disdain. ‘‘And do clean yourself up. I can’t have one of my kids out in the streets wearing those rags.’’

She contained a squeal at Roldan’s answer. ‘‘I will come back at seven o’clock, not a minute later.’’ Lyra promised. Despite the man’s vicious remarks, he hadn’t given her the fight she’d been prepared for, and she didn’t dare say anything that could change his mind.

Lyra walked out of Mr. Biville’s office into the hallway smiling like a damn lunatic, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Hope began to bloom from within her. If all went well and without any mishaps, she’d have a job by the end of the week, and she would finally have the semi stable life she had always yearned for.

 

*** 

_Narcissus’ Garden. Outskirts of London. November 2014._

On the morning of November 26th, Draco Malfoy woke when the knocking on his bedroom door failed to cease. It was a Sunday –the only day of the week in which he didn’t open his potions store in Diagon Alley. Subsequently, it also meant that he was allowed to sleep in, if sleeping until seven A.M. counted as such. It wasn’t like he ever stopped working, anyway. On days like these, all progress he could make with his potions was just one more step towards society accepting him again, and while it wasn’t something he was keen on obtaining, he knew it was necessary if he wanted his mother to receive the best treatment there was.

Stretching out, he took a peek at the watch before walking towards the door to see what all the fuss was about.  When he opened it, he looked down to realize that it was their loyal house elf, Neia, who was knocking so insistently.

‘‘Good morning, Master!’’ She greeted cheerfully. ‘‘Mistress Narcissa is wishing for Master Draco to join her outside. It is one of the good days today, sir.’’

‘‘Good morning, Neia. Please tell Mother I will be there shortly.’’ He said, nodding at her in thanks. At his dismissal, she went back down the stairs, presumably to tend to her dear Mistress.

 _‘One of the good days’_ , as Neia had put it, meant that his mother had woken in complete awareness of her surroundings. After aunt Bellatrix had tortured her to no end in Malfoy Manor almost two decades ago, she had begun to slowly lose her mind, which caused her to live in constant hallucinations and fantasies to shelter her conscience of the horrors she’d been through. She was paranoid all the time, now. Draco couldn’t blame her.

After the War, and after his father was sent to Azkaban to pay for his crimes, the Malfoy family lost everything that came with their name: their wealth, their properties, their so called friends… everything except for the tainted reputation that remained with them to this day. But Draco was nothing if not persistent –something his dear mother had taught him since he was a young child, and with her condition worsening over time, Draco didn’t have the heart to enter her in St. Mungo’s. Even if he’d wanted to, back then, they would have never accepted her. People often forgot that Draco had, in fact, spied for the Light side for about one year and a half before the War ended. They chose instead to judge for what he’d been before then. That was why he kept studying and researching for a potion that proved to be effective against the remnants of the Cruciatus curse and all alike. It was not a dead end, of that he was sure, but it didn’t make reaching his goal any easier. Slowly, he gained what little he had by his talent, earning enough to rent an empty building in Diagon Alley to open up his own potions shop, and to buy a beautiful cottage on the outskirts of London, where he could keep his mother safe away from curious eyes. So far, he’d succeeded.

The cottage, which belonged to the Victorian era, had a steeply pitched roof of irregular shape and a dominant front facing gable. The walls were painted in neutral pastel colors, and to avoid a smooth-walled appearance, there were textured shingles all along the house with a partial porch in the principal entrance. Its asymmetrical façade was also very eye-catching. The garden –courtesy of Narcissa, Neia and Draco occasionally, housed a very rich variety of vegetation that allowed all kinds of creatures to linger there. Yes, it was quite big for the three of them, but Draco had fallen in love the minute he laid his eyes on it and had pestered the previous owner (who only kept it out of sentimentality) to sell the property to him. Finally, after months of insisting, the man had given in, claiming his old age did not allow for him to take proper care of the house and everything that came with it, and sold it to Draco after he promised to love Halcyon Shelter (now Narcissus’ Garden) the same way he’d cherished it. Both he and his mother had been over the moon, because it was everything the Manor had never been: a home.

Changing into casual attire, Draco made his way out to the garden, where he knew mother spent most of her time in. She’d always been calm when surrounded by plants, and found it relaxing to take care of them.

Draco walked down a barely uneven path made out of cobblestone. Feeling the breeze of air sweep through, he instinctively brought the loose ends of his coat closer to his body. It was cold, colder than it had been the days before then, which meant it would only get worse in days to come. He rubbed his hands repeatedly to keep them warm and maintained his step until he found his mother, sitting on her beloved oak bench staring out to the pond. That bench had been a gift from Andromeda, her once estranged sister, in a sign of forgiveness. It was charmed to keep the person who sat in it in comfort, no matter the weather, and to give protection to its owner. Added to all that, oak in itself had strength and solidity properties, as well as a very powerful herb for protection. Engraved on the back of the bench, the words _‘storms make the oak grow deeper roots’_. Mother spent most of her time there, now, but Draco never said anything, because there were few things that gave her peace, and this was one of them.

Narcissa Malfoy had had better days, but she was still as beautiful as ever, and she managed to give off an elegant vibe that was as calming as it was unnerving. Wearing a long gray gown and with her hair styled out in a braid, she simply stared out to the pond were a few ducks swam.

‘‘Mother.’’ Draco said, making his presence known.

She turned to look at him and smiled warmly. ‘‘My beautiful boy. Come, sit with me. It is a most beautiful day, don’t you think?’’ Narcissa asked as greeting.

Draco didn’t think it was a particularly splendid day regarding the climate, but it was a great day as long as she was happy and safe. ‘‘Yes, it truly is. How are you today, mother?’’ Draco asked after he sat next to her.

‘‘I’m feeling good, my Dragon. It is you I am worried about.’’

‘‘What?’’ Draco frowned. ‘‘And why is that, mother?’’

In lieu of answering, she pointed to the ducks that swam serenely. ‘‘Tell me, Draco, what do you see?’’

Turning his gaze to where she pointed, Draco answered, ‘’I see ducks. The mother, and her babies.’’

She smiled, but it was barely there. ‘’Most fascinating creatures, ducks are. I find it especially curious how the babies follow the mother around, and how she protects them…’’ Her voice faded.

Draco nodded, turning his gaze to where she pointed. ‘‘It’s in their nature, I assume. They would be quite hopeless without the mother to guide them, at such a young age.’’

His mother hummed in agreement. ‘‘Right now, yes. They are very little still, and they need her. But what happens when they grow, dear?’’

‘‘Well, they must find their own way, don’t they?’’ He answered, confused.

‘‘Is that so different than what us as humans do?’’ Narcissa put her hand on top of his. As always, her touch gave him a sense of peace that he only experienced when he was making potions, or spending time with her.

Draco thought about it for a bit. ‘‘Just a tad. I believe, as humans, we are much more sentimental than they are. In result, we tend to give more importance to things beyond our control.’’

‘‘Yes. You see, I think we are not so different from them.’’ She confessed. ‘‘Both our species are living beings. Therefore, we all have a cycle to fulfill. But you, my boy… You are stuck in the cycle. You have not yet moved on.’’

‘‘Moved on from what?’’

Mother was silent for a moment. ‘‘From the choices that you made when you were young, dear. From the snide remarks that followed. From me.’’ She said, and it sounded like an admission.

Draco sighed and closed his eyes to ignore the dull pain that invaded him when he caught wind of what she was trying to say. ‘‘Mother, how can you say that? How can you even imply it?’’ He stressed, feeling offended. ‘‘You are not and you never will be an obligation to me, do you hear me? Never!’’

‘’I know, dear. Trust me, I know.’’ She responded with shining eyes. ‘‘But in all sixteen years that have passed since the War, I haven’t seen you let go of yourself. Not even once.’’

‘‘Mother…’’ Draco pleaded, but she shook her head to stop him from speaking.

‘‘I’ve been aware for a long time now, Dragon. That I’m not able to recognize it for what it is every day is another story.’’ Narcissa put an arm around his shoulders to comfort him. ‘‘When Lucius and I made the choices that we made, Draco, we were not thinking clearly. We were young, and foolish, and we honestly believed all the rubbish the Dark Lord fed us.’’ She acknowledged. ‘‘There are not many regrets that I have. I find them unworthy of my time. But this… my only regret, is that you got caught up with our choices.’’

Draco slowly let out the breath he’d been holding. ‘‘I love you, Mother. And I would not change a thing of what we’ve lived. It has made us who we are now.’’

‘‘Indeed. And yet, you seem to believe you are forced to live by your regrets.’’ She scolded calmly. ‘‘Do me and yourself a favor, dear, and get out there. Find something other than potions to love. If that happens to be a someone… well. I’ll just say it’s about time.’’ Narcissa stood up and dusted her dress before hugging him tightly. ‘‘And don’t you ever forget it, darling. Mother always knows best.’’

 

 

*** 

_Hogwarts Castle. February 1997._

If someone had asked him before the Dark Lord took control of his life, Draco would have said that he had always been pretty damn proud of himself. His early advantage over some of his peers –such as his knowledge of certain subjects and situations– had opened a lot of doors as he grew up, and though many of the opportunities that were presented upon him existed thanks to his last name, Draco didn’t let that deter him. He was fully aware of his strengths, and had always used them to shape him into the person he aspired to be.

This certain door that had opened, however, Draco was most definitely not proud of.

 _‘‘I put my trust in you to do this, my dear Draco,_ ’’ the Dark Lord had drawled as he caressed Nagini’s head. _‘‘I need not remind you of what would happen should you fail.’’_ And that’d been it. With those words, he’d felt as though the weight of the world had been put on his shoulders. That was why he couldn’t allow himself to fuck it up: the consequences would be horrifying, and damn his own life. It was his mother he was afraid to risk.

Unlike Draco’s father, she was the only person who had ever truly loved him for who he was, who allowed him to see his mistakes and helped him walk the path to fix them, and who never judged him with malice behind her words. That was why, when the Dark Lord entrusted him with carrying out Dumbledore’s death, he was unable to say no. Not that he could have done it without losing his head, anyway. Free will was a luxury he did not ever possess, not when his father was still sane of his mental faculties and definitely not now that the Dark Lord was the lawful lord of Malfoy Manor.

Of course, all that had been before the fucking incident. Perhaps losing his life to Potter would have been far better and easier than having to deal with the prat lounging around, waiting. Waiting for Draco to leave his lifelong beliefs behind to follow the most honorable path of the Light. ‘‘ _Choose’’_ , Potter had said, as if it was truly that simple.

Worse thing of all, he was actually considering it, and that was something he’d never had the guts to do in his life. Draco had been raised to follow blindly into his father’s footsteps, to live by a certain etiquette and the weight of what he was expected to do. Should he not do it perfectly, he was punished. Father had never been empathic, and he sure as hell never touched his heart when it came to carrying out Draco’s punishments. If anything, he made them harsher, to ensure his mistakes were not repeated.

Draco had blamed himself for a long time, thinking that he actually deserved what was thrust upon him, but ever since Potter had talked to him that night in the infirmary, he couldn’t help but to let the doubts linger in his head. Of course, Potter had not approached him again on the subject. Or at all, really. He’d stopped stalking him since then. And yet… Draco could feel the stares behind his back, and he even caught his eyes every once in a while. Alas, Potter vowed to respect whatever choice he made, even if it was most definitely the wrong one, and didn’t try to pressure him into making one. But enough was enough.

As time passed and February arrived, Draco was done considering the pros and cons of talking to Dumbledore. True enough, the man was sketchy as fuck, and kept more secrets than were allowed, but he _still_ was the de facto leader of whatever organization the Light worked within. It was a given that he was the first person he should approach in the matter, because Snape was definitely out of the question, what with him working with the Dark Lord and such.

Finally making a decision, Draco walked out of the dungeons being careful enough to not alert Snape, who was probably awake at the time, but he’d done it so many times in the past six months that he did it practically on instinct by now. Bracing himself and gathering a shit ton of courage he wasn’t ever aware he could muster, Draco stopped before the entrance of the Gargoyle Corridor and quietly collected himself to hide his nerves. This decision would change everything, and the leap he was taking had all the power to either make his life or ruin it. At that thought, Draco scoffed without humor. His life had been ruined since the Dark Lord reappeared. _Talking to Dumbledore is the right thing to do. I can provide safety for Mother for the time being._

Repeating that affirmation a few times in his mind to let it fully sink in, Draco straightened his robes and gripped his wand tightly in his right hand before raising the other to knock three times. The sound resonated in the empty corridor, and when the door opened at last, he found himself eye to eye with his Headmaster.

Draco took a deep breath and his lips trembled before he opened his mouth to speak. ‘‘Headmaster.’’ He muttered and inclined his head in greeting. ‘‘There’s something I want to talk to you about.’’

 

###############

_Find this story on[Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/story/192205494-the-balancer%27s-eye)!_


	2. Dog Days Are Over... Aren't They?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in 1997 Harry searches for answers and doesn't like what he gets. In 2014, Lyra gets a job offer from a mysterious man and Harry's mission goes sideways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from ''Dog Days Are Over'' by Florence+The Machine
> 
> Sooo, I promised myself I'd post a new chapter each week, so here it is! There are no warnings for this chapter, I think, but if you believe I should add one, let me know and I'll add it right away.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it, and if you do, please leave kudos and a comment. I will be extremely grateful:)

 “Even when we do not actively participate in our destiny, we are still on a chosen path. Life has a way of making decisions for us.” 

 **―** **Nina Guilbeau**

 ***

_Diagon Alley. London, December 2014._

For a lot of people, December usually symbolized all the hope and happiness one could have for the holidays. It was the month in which families gathered together, made a huge dinner for all and gave each other presents and stuff. Of course, as an orphan, Lyra May had never experienced the pleasure of celebrating the holidays as such. It also meant that her birthday (which coincidentally happened to be on December 24th) went unnoticed, and although it’d never truly bothered her, the arrival of her seventeenth birthday now marked an entirely different start for her.

So far, said start hadn’t been as pleasant as Lyra thought it would be.

 _‘‘I can’t decide whether you’re playing stupid or if you are just completely useless.’’_ Mr. Biville had proclaimed as he signed Lyra’s permission to leave the orphanage three days earlier. _‘‘Can’t say it surprises me, though. It would’ve been a miracle if someone actually took you in to work for them.’’_

At that, she would’ve usually taken the bite. But not that day. Lyra wasn’t in the mood for much lately, what with her failing to get a job to sustain her and all. She felt lost, like that little kid trying to satisfy Roldan Biville when he first took control of Bona Fide. In many ways that counted, that orphanage had been her home before Roldan made it hell to live in, and she had tried her best to not screw up. He had never seen it that way. He took everything positive out of a situation and managed to make it somber. When Lyra had finally realized that, she promised herself to never beg for scraps ever again. She knew better than that.

Now, walking out of Diagon Alley yet again with no success accomplished, Lyra sat on one of the few lonely benches a few blocks away from the alley and rubbed her hands nervously. She still had some money left to stay at the cheap hostel she’d found for a few more days, but it wasn’t near enough to pay for rent on a stable department with the muggles, and much less in the wizarding community. She was beginning to feel desperate. Many store owners had turned her down because of her age, or her looks, or any excuse they found not to hire her. It wasn’t enough to prove herself to them, or that she had the knowledge needed to work with them.

Lyra fidgeted with her hair for a moment and let her mind wander to her childhood, when Mrs. Eleanor always tried to tell her that there was nothing abnormal with her, even after the other children in the orphanage made fun of her. _‘‘Long, platinum blonde hair. Just like a princess,’’_ the old woman used to say as she braided it. Nowadays, Lyra only let her hair grow barely past her shoulders and tried to hide it as well as she could. Every day before anyone saw her, she cast the spell to change its color.

 _‘‘Merlin’s beard! And don’t even get me started on how you look,’’_ _Roldan exclaimed._ _‘‘You’re so pale you could easily pass of as a ghost, so tall and lean not even a half decent suitor would look at you twice…’’ He pulled one of her long braids harshly and she winced in pain._ _‘‘And this hair of yours. No hair like this brings good fortune to anyone. Can’t have people thinking we take care of demon spawns in the orphanage.’’_

Roldan Biville had been the cause for all her insecurities all throughout her childhood and for the better part of her teenage years, and although she was determined not to let it get the best of her, there were still days (like today) when she felt completely useless.

She closed her eyes and played with the charm that hung of her necklace. It was a piece of fine silver, and the circle shaped charm spelled _Lyra_ _May_ in its center. Its mere existence was how Mrs. Eleanor knew what her name was, for that little piece of jewelry had been the only material object her parents had left Lyra with when they abandoned her on the front step of Bona Fide. All her childhood, she’d cherished the little piece of jewelry and kept it as a token, a reminder that not all was lost. However, as Lyra grew up and understood what it meant to be an orphan, she couldn’t help but to harbor some resentment due to their abandonment. It was only in days like these, where everything seemed to go wrong, that she allowed herself to hope. _Please, s_ he thought desperately. _Just lead me to the right path._

The cold air swept and Lyra hugged her bag close to her chest in an effort to make herself warmer. She willed herself not to cry, not to appear weak to the outsiders leering curiously to the dirty girl that’d been around Diagon Alley more often than not these past few weeks. She exhaled and her breath came out in the form of steam, but she was startled out of her thoughts when a man suddenly sat next to her on the bench. Lyra turned to stare at him. He had the appearance of a muggle, tall, dark haired and gave off a don’t-talk-to-me vibe, which she’d learned (the hard way) not to disturb from her many years in the orphanage. It didn’t explain why the man had seated beside her, though, with all the empty benches in the park.

After a few minutes of staring at the mysterious man in silence, he finally had some type of reaction and cleared his throat. ‘‘I’ve seen you here lately.’’ He admitted gruffly. ‘‘And people talk, you know? Why are you looking for a job in Diagon Alley?’’ Not a muggle, then.

‘‘Um, because I need the money?’’ She responded. It was damn obvious, wasn’t it?

‘‘Well, of course you do.’’ The man scoffed. ‘‘What about your parents?’’ He asked. When Lyra failed to answer him, he simply smiled. ‘‘You’re under no obligation to respond, of course. I am a complete stranger, aren’t I?’’

Lyra clenched her fists and took a few breaths. ‘‘I don’t have any parents.’’ She answered uncertainly. ‘‘Never knew them, anyway.’’

Something Lyra couldn’t name passed over the man’s face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. He nodded grimly. ‘‘Ah, that explains it,’’ he said, but he didn’t look like he pitied her in the slightest. This realization only sparkled her interest.

‘‘Now you understand my… problem. What’s your name, sir?’’

‘‘It is not important,’’ the man assured. ‘‘What are you good at, child? What are your interests?’’ He asked.

Lyra snorted. ‘‘Why, you offering me a job?’’ She replied sarcastically.

‘‘Perhaps I am.’’ He admitted. Lyra turned to look at him in surprise.

Waiting for the punch line that never came, Lyra narrowed her eyes but opened her mouth to respond. ‘‘Well, I’m… not picky. I’m desperate, and I am also a fast learner…’’

‘‘That’s not what I asked.’’ The man interrupted her. ‘‘Which is your area of expertise?’’

Lyra opened and closed her mouth a few times. ‘‘I… well. I’d like to be a healer, someday, but I lack the knowledge to achieve it.’’

The man nodded, satisfied. ‘‘We all possess the knowledge, child, but it is up to ourselves to make it bloom.’’ He stuck his hands in his pockets and fumbled for a bit until he found what he was apparently looking for. ‘‘How amenable would you be to working in a Potions shop?’’

‘‘I would work with anything, right now.’’ She admitted.

‘‘Very well, then.’’ He said and gave her a small piece of parchment with an address written in it. ‘‘You’re in desperate need of a job, and a very good friend of mine is in desperate need of an assistant. I believe you two will get along just fine.’’ Then, he stood up and dusted his coat. He extended his right hand to shake her own.

Lyra complied, a bit dazed. ‘‘How can you be so sure he’ll hire me?’’

The man smiled. ‘‘I suppose that is up to you.’’ He avowed, and with a slight bow of his head, he turned on his heel to leave.

Lyra sat gaping at the man’s retreating form until he disappeared before turning her gaze back down to the piece of parchment, and the elegantly written words _The Dragon’s Den, Potions & Supplies _greeted her when she did so.

 ***

_Hogwarts Castle. February 1997._

‘‘What do you mean, Malfoy’s on our side?!’’ Ron half shouted and then proceeded to trip over his own feet in surprise. Hermione pulled his ears in retaliation and ignored their fellow classmates who turned to look at them.

When they kept staring, Hermione stopped in her tracks. ‘‘What are you all looking at? Do you have nothing else to do?’’ She scolded, and the small crowd that had gathered slowly dispersed.

Harry rolled his eyes and cast a _Muffiliato_ spell to keep curious ears from listening to them. ‘‘I mean, Malfoy had a change of heart and talked to Dumbledore about helping us and providing information about You-Know-Who…’’

‘‘As if!’’ Ron spat angrily as they kept walking towards the Potions classroom. ‘‘I don’t know about you, but the Ferret doesn’t seem to be the kind of person who’d just willingly offer his help to benefit something other than himself. What does he get out of this?’’

‘‘Besides not working for You-Know-Who and having a guaranteed pardon in case he took the Dark Mark?’’ Hermione asked sarcastically with a raised eyebrow. ‘‘Gee, I can’t possibly imagine, Ron.’’

Ron started to fuss but Harry intervened, ‘‘Dumbledore said the information he provided is essential to winning the war, and that he was completely honest with him. He trusts Malfoy, and I trust Dumbledore to do what’s best for all of us.’’ He admitted, although quite begrudgingly.

‘‘Well,’’ Ron replied. ‘‘I say we talk to the Ferret ourselves and see what he says to defend himself.’’

After that, Harry tried his best to pay attention to Ron’s angry musings, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Truth be told, even though Harry himself had given Malfoy a little push to talk to Dumbledore, he was still a bit wary. He was a Malfoy after all, and they couldn’t be easily trusted, no matter if Harry himself had seen his rival become almost human in their last interaction.

Harry kept his eyes trained towards the door that lead to Potions, where Malfoy would undoubtedly be, sitting on the desk on the furthest corner hiding himself from his classmate’s eyes as he’d been doing for the whole school year to no avail, because no matter how hard he tried, his presence was always noticed somehow. Or perhaps that was just Harry talking. _I’ve been stalking him the whole year_ , he told himself. _That’s why I’m always aware of his presence._ Harry thought back to their first years at Hogwarts, when Malfoy was always so full of himself and so fucking arrogant that it took everything within him not to punch the git every time he opened his mouth. Nowadays, though, with everything that was going on, Harry almost missed their altercations. The Malfoy of today was serious, with huge dark bags under his eyes that indicated little to no sleep, and he seemed to be constantly on edge. Now, he understood why, and it was extremely hard not to blame Draco for his choices, to ignore that childish part of him that insisted Draco didn’t deserve to be forgiven, but Harry knew that it was the easiest thing to do: to be angry at Dumbledore for trusting Draco’s word just like that like Ron was, to blame Draco for taking the Dark Mark, for following in his father’s footsteps… but wasn’t that what happened to Harry, only the other way around? Wasn’t Harry thrown into a world he didn’t know just to be forced to act how everyone expected him to? Wasn’t he, Harry Potter, the poster child and ray of hope to save the world from Voldemort’s claws? And wasn’t Draco filled with expectations ever since he was born, as well? _‘‘It’s alright to be wary, Harry,’’_ Dumbledore had agreed when Harry confronted him, eyes twinkling. _‘‘But what is to become of us if we don’t forgive, and if we don’t trust?’’_

They’d both had a duty to fulfill, a destiny that wasn’t theirs to pave since the beginning, and while it was difficult to understand it, Harry was aware that it was the right thing to do.

Malfoy was already seated when they arrived, just like Harry knew he would be. Not even Pansy nor Blaise sat with him, but they hadn’t done so for months. He had a small impulse to go and take the place next to the other boy, but he didn’t dare, sparing himself the hex that would be probably thrown his way. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. Malfoy pretty much avoided any contact with Harry nowadays.

After settling on his seat next to Ron, Harry decided. _Tonight. I’ll talk to him tonight._

|||

The day passed with no further events, and with each second the clock ticked, Harry got more nervous as he convinced himself of confronting Malfoy. Besides, as Dumbledore would not tell him what he and Malfoy had talked about or what the hell the Death Eater (former?) had told the Headmaster for him to trust him so easily, Harry had to investigate himself. It was better that way, he supposed, to know Malfoy’s reasons for leaving Voldemort’s rule behind, for leaving his family behind. Sure, the git owed him nothing, and he was about ninety six percent sure that seeking him out was going to be useless, but he still had to try. He _needed_ to comprehend, and taking Ron with him would’ve only made his task harder to achieve.

Harry lied still on his bed until Ron´s breathing evened out, a clear signal that he’d finally fallen asleep. He could’ve easily taken his best friend with him to confront Malfoy because he had no idea of what he was supposed to say, but he just _knew_ that it would have undoubtedly ended getting physical, and that was the last thing any of them needed. Taking Hermione was out of the question, too, and bringing her into the mess was just unfair, with her giving everything she had to the cause. _No,_ he sighed deeply. _This is something I have to do on my own._ With that thought in mind, Harry threw his cloak over his head and made his way out of the dorms. When he deemed his surroundings safe enough, he took out the Marauder’s Map and unfolded it.

‘‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good’’ _,_ he muttered and patiently waited as the map started to draw itself slowly. When the entirety of Hogwarts appeared, Harry squinted in surprised when Malfoy’s name was nowhere to be seen. That was certainly unusual... but not unheard of.

There was no reason for Draco Malfoy to not be inside the castle’s limits, especially because he was the Slytherin prefect and these were patrolling hours. Narrowing his eyes, he forced himself to think. Harry knew of only two places in the castle that were never showed on the map, and he sincerely doubted that Malfoy was hiding somewhere in the Chamber of Secrets. Truth be told, he wasn’t even sure that the Slytherin knew of its existence. He swallowed dry. The only other viable option was the Room of Requirement, and while it was a long shot, it was the only place that made sense. _‘‘And he knows exactly where it is’’,_ Harry thought bitterly as he remembered the events that had occurred the prior year. 

Tossing those thoughts far into the back of his mind, he went on his way towards the seventh floor, where he knew the room was located. He´d spent a fair amount of time there the past year, after all, but he wasn’t sure if it would even open for him. His only immediate need was to be face to face to Draco Malfoy, and what would the room even make out of that? He doubted that the room would put him in a secluded space with a table and two chairs where the two of them could talk and fix whatever their differences were. _Like we’re ever going to be able to do so_ , he scoffed and promptly stopped in his tracks when the huge wooden door appeared before him.

Harry raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat. ‘‘Well, that was easy’’, he whispered into the empty corridor and sighed through his flared nostrils to calm his nerves before entering into the Room of Requirement.

He´d only seen the reality of the room when he´d found the Half Blood Prince’s potions book, and to say it was different from how it had appeared when Dumbledore’s Army used it would be an understatement. He could barely see anything. There weren´t any candles lit –or any candles at all, for that matter, and the room was filled with so many strange objects that it was hard to walk through the empty spaces between one object and another. The atmosphere inside was so tense that Harry wondered just what things were hidden in here.

Making his way into the depths of the room, he couldn´t help but to wonder what the hell would Malfoy need from this eerie place, but he was certain that it couldn’t be anything good. Nothing ever was when a Slytherin was involved, and Malfoy had a knack for being exceedingly troublesome if the situation required it. Still, to be outside his dorm after curfew hours? Even Harry (who was a very notorious troublemaker himself) thought about it twice before breaking that specific rule, but Malfoy –excellent grades and discipline records and Slytherin prefect Malfoy– had nothing to do outside of his chambers if it wasn’t patrolling. Perhaps first-to-fifth year Malfoy would have, if it were only to stick is nose into Harry’s business, but now? It didn’t make any sense.

When he finally stumbled upon Malfoy, Harry stood a few meters away, unsure of how to proceed. The other boy was simply sitting in front of what looked like some kind of cabinet, and he sat just staring at it without making any other move. From this distance, Draco looked almost peaceful.

Walking a bit closer, Harry cleared his throat. ‘‘Heard you’re on our side, now.’’ He said, breaking the deafening silence that invaded the dark room. Malfoy turned his gaze to him, but he didn’t look all that surprised.

The ghost of a smirk appeared on his face. ‘‘It was only a matter of time before you found me, wasn’t it? Haven’t tired of stalking me yet?’’ He sneered, but he didn’t stand up, so Harry slowly sat beside him. Malfoy didn´t object, simply turning his gaze back to the cabinet. ‘‘What do you want, Potter?’’ The Slytherin asked, exhaustion clear in his voice. It seemed like he was always exhausted nowadays: he didn’t put that much of a fight where Harry was involved. He supposed it was simply a part of growing up –and a part of going through all the shit they’d both been through at such a young age.

They were big enough not to beat around the bush now, though. ‘‘I want to know what made you change your mind,’’ he voiced, no hesitance clear in his voice.

Malfoy scoffed. ‘‘Dumbledore didn’t tell you?’’

‘‘He said he’d only tell me what I needed to know, which, in his thoughts, is only that you defected from You-Know-Who’s forces and provided essential information for our role in this war,’’ Harry chimed, mimicking Dumbledore’s voice.

‘‘Well, that’s about it,’’ Malfoy sighed. ‘‘Why would you even want to know the extended version?’’

‘‘Because I need to understand, Malfoy,’’ Harry pleaded, looking at the other boy in the eye. ‘‘I know I told you to do the right thing, and I am glad that you decided to do so, but I want to know if I can trust you. And given our past... well, you’ll forgive me if I’m dubious.’’

The Slytherin rubbed his eyes before speaking. ‘‘I told you what he’d do to my mother, Potter,’’ Draco’s voice barely came out in a whisper.

‘‘You did,’’ Harry conceded, ‘‘but is that the only reason?’’

‘‘Well, it’s the only one that matters!’’ He finally snapped. ‘‘It’s not like you’d understand, would you? I don’t have to explain anything to you!’’ Malfoy exclaimed, nostrils flaring.

Raising to the bait came as a natural reaction –the need to fight back bubbling up from within him. Something drastic shifted inside Harry when Malfoy said those words, an unpleasant sensation coiling in his stomach as he tried to fight against his first instinct to answer back with an equally hurtful remark. And the thing was, Harry was perfectly aware that the damn bastard had always known how to jab at his sore spots, had always been the only one capable of getting a rise out of him, but it was also the truth that Harry was the only one who had that same effect on Malfoy.

The realization didn’t make him feel any better. ‘‘I want to know, because if we’re on the same side,’’ he whispered, his voice sounding far too raw for his liking. ‘‘And if we’re going to be working together, I want to be able to trust you. We’re not friends, you and I, we never have been, but this? This is bigger than whatever childish issues we’ve harbored over the years,’’ Harry continued, sighing through his nostrils. ‘‘If you can’t get past that, how the fuck do you think we’ll ever be able to defeat Voldemort?’’ He asked, feeling guilty over the wave of smugness that invaded him when Malfoy flinched at the mention of the name.

‘‘That’s rich,’’ Malfoy scoffed. ‘‘Potter, is me risking not only my life but also my Mother’s life enough proof of my devotion to your side? Trust me, if the Dark Lord finds out...’’

‘‘The Order will protect you,’’ Harry insisted stubbornly. If it was the truth, and Malfoy had defected to be fully committed to Voldemort’s eventual downfall, surely the Order would protect him with everything they had...

At that, Malfoy openly laughed on his face. ‘‘Potter, what exactly do you think Dumbledore tasked me with?’’

Harry frowned but still replied. ‘‘Well, to fight with us, of course. Tell us everything you know so we can-’‘

‘‘Potter,’’ Draco interrupted him curtly. ‘‘I was very nicely asked to act as a spy for your side. Even you can understand, that means I’m not safe at all.’’

***

_Somewhere in Great Britain. December 2014._

Four aurors were perched upon the cold stones that laid on a hill, waiting. They camouflaged themselves with the tall, leafy trees that surrounded them. The soil in which they laid was damp, a clear sign that it’d rained some days before, and the cold December air trespassed their robes, but still, they were quietly looking down to the small town that seemed eerily undisturbed by the war. All of the houses were perfectly lined up, one after the other. They appeared to be on perfect condition. At first sight, one wouldn’t notice how truly old the houses were, but Harry knew better.

Oh, did he know better.

‘‘It looks completely deserted,’’ Finnigan whispered as they descended. On his left, Dean Thomas walked and inspected their surroundings with unbreakable attention.

Harry smiled. ‘‘Well, not all is as it looks,’’ he said, repeating what Hermione had once told him. 

‘‘That it isn’t, mate,’’ Ron agreed without letting his guard down. ‘‘I’ve had those words burned in my mind far too many times to ignore them by now,’’ he chuckled, clearly remembering all the times his wife had chastised him for overlooking something.

When they’d been assigned this particular mission, both him and Ron (his childhood best friend and now his partner as well) had been pleasantly surprised. While it wasn’t often that they got missions where they had to ally themselves with other aurors, they were both far too used to each other’s presence and tactics to work well with other teams. Thomas and Finnigan, though, they’d always gotten along with just fine.

Their Hogwarts days had been the main reason for how well they worked together. There weren´t many people Harry could trust nowadays. ‘‘Sources say the house is inhabited by two sets of twins: husbands and wives. Both sets equally evil, only one set smart enough to tamper with the artifacts inside the house and _sell_ them.’’ Harry spat with venom.

The Auror Office had been receiving endless owls carrying out messages that pleaded for the aurors to put a stop to all the weird shit that had been going on for months in their little town. As the reports said, the couples had moved in one day and practically invaded an old cottage in the outskirts of town. Said cottage was rumored to be filled with dark magic and antiques that a lot of wizards would be willing to spend their galleons in. Unfortunately, as everything involving dark magic turned out, some of the artifacts were so deeply cursed that it’d started affecting the peace and calm of the people. It was well known that magic houses were very territorial over its belongings, and only blood owners (or experienced people –enter the aurors and curse breakers) were able to take the artifacts out without consequence.

Harry and Ron weren’t usually sent away on these kind of missions anymore, but with Harry on the brink of taking the Head Auror position, the more he expanded his curriculum the better.

Seamus cleared his throat as they neared the house. ‘‘Wouldn’t curse breakers be more qualified for this kind of job?’’ He asked nervously. ‘‘I don’t have a very good feeling about this.’’

Dean clapped him on his back. ‘‘There’s nothing to worry about, mate,’’ he reassured him. ‘‘They’re just a few amateurs playing with fire. We just gotta take ‘em down.’’

‘‘Come on,’’ Harry said signaled for them to move forward. ‘‘We’ll split to look for the demon twins. Once we take them out, we get the hell out of here,’’ he said, and started looking for the easier way in.

The cottage, Harry knew, had probably seen better days. The house, although very clearly old, looked quite magnificent. It was built with sandstone and had white cedar wooden decorations. The roof was high and triangular and was covered with brown wood shingles. From where he stood, Harry could make out two large chimneys on either side of the house and a large garden surrounding it. Tall, large windows added a fairly asymmetrical pattern to the house. The only thing ruining the view was the heavy aura that was all over the place thanks to the cursed antiques that had been taken out without the house’s permission.

Once they managed to get safely inside the house without the wards setting off, Harry sighed in relief. He’d been worried about the magic surrounding the property being unstable, what with it being so old and all that, but the quiet hum emanating from it made it feel like the magic was pleased somehow. Harry might have even said it felt welcoming.

He wondered if that was either a good or a bad sign.

‘‘The wives have been apprehended by Finnigan and Thomas,’’ Ron announced when they finished searching the area. ‘‘The husbands are yet to be seen. According to the wives, there’s a basement where the artifacts are being kept. Should we take a look?’’

Finnigan appeared behind him. ‘‘I’ll come with you,’’ he offered, his accent getting deeper as he spoke. ‘‘Don’t know what things we’ll find down there.’’

‘‘Yeah,’’ Harry agreed, taking out his wand. ‘‘Let’s go.’’

Finding the door that lead to the basement was easy enough for Harry to worry. Walking down the steps slowly to avoid making any noise, he tried not to give much thought to his gut feeling going crazy inside of him. Even an amateur would know to spell an entrance to hide it, but they hadn’t even tried to.

Although the atmosphere inside was incredibly heavy, Harry could make out a few portraits, various textiles, metal ware, and jewelry. Nothing that looked very valuable or cursed-like. He frowned, but kept walking anyway, the secure presence of his fellow aurors reassuring him.

That was until he heard the familiar sound of a hex being thrown his way, and was able to duck just in time.

‘‘Look out for the other one!’’ Ron shouted from where he’d started a duel with one of the twins.

He was struggling, Harry could tell, so he quickly moved to throw a hex of his own, but before he could shout the words, he felt an excruciating pain in his wand arm that made his eyes go blurry. He turned his gaze to the perpetrator, who was walking towards at him with a devious look in his eyes and his wand raised. The man shouted something Harry couldn’t really make out through the ringing in his ears, but he recognized the blood orange color that emanated from the wand.

‘‘Harry, watch out!’’ Seamus yelled and pushed him with a surprising amount of strength.

Before his body hit the ground, Harry saw as the curse meant for him hit his friend.

Then he felt a wave of magic invade him and everything went black.

***

_Diagon Alley. London, December 2014._

Lyra returned to Diagon the day after her strange encounter with the mysterious man.

Even though she heavily doubted that she was going to get hired, she figured she still had to try, but she didn’t get her hopes up too high. _If this doesn’t work_ , she thought, _I’ll start looking for a job with the muggles. Can’t be as bad as working for these high and mighty people._

With that thought in mind, she threw her bag over her shoulder and read the address to see where she was headed.

‘‘Excuse me,’’ she tapped a fancy dressed lady on her shoulder. ‘‘Do you happen to know where this shop is located?’’ Lyra asked.

When the woman took the piece of parchment and read what it said, she looked up with a frown. ‘‘You don’t want to go near there,’’ she hissed in a low tone. ‘‘No good will come to you if you do business with a Death Eater,’’ the woman finished and took off without helping her.

Stunned at the woman’s rudeness, Lyra simply stood for a few minutes and shrugged. Of course she knew what a Death Eater was. That didn’t mean she’d be so quick to judge. So coming to a decision, she continued on her path until she found the sign that read _‘The Dragon’s Den’._

The first thing Lyra noticed from the shop was that it was quite secluded from the commercial area in Diagon Alley. The second thing was that it stood out from the others due to its elegant façade, with the large crystal windows and cedar frames.

Intrigued, Lyra opened the door and the bell chiming greeted her. There seemed to be no one on sight.

‘‘Hello?’’ Lyra voiced, but she received no answer. ‘‘I was told you were looking for an assistant?’’ Again, no answer.

She balanced her weight from foot to foot awkwardly and looked around the store. Captivated, Lyra admired the perfectly organized shelves that housed all kinds of potions of every color she could ever imagine. She’d never seen a store like this one before, and Mr. Biville’s stack of potions lacked what Dragon’s Den had to offer. She was fascinated.

Just as she was extending one of her hands to retrieve a blue potion that caught her attention, she heard someone clear their throat and she tripped in surprise. Lyra was sure that her face was burning as she spun quickly and found herself face to face with who she supposed was the owner of the shop.

‘‘I wouldn’t recommend that,’’ the man’s velvety voice resonated through the room. ‘‘Each shelf is charmed to burn the hand of the one who tries to take a potion. I’m the only one allowed to do so.’’ He announced, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Lyra took in the face of the man. He seemed young, late twenties or early thirties at most. He had sharp features and white blond hair that strongly resembled Lyra’s own.  And his eyes... Lyra was sure that he’d seen him somewhere, but she couldn’t pinpoint where...

When it hit her, she gasped and the words were out of her mouth before she could talk herself out of doing so. ‘‘By Merlin, you’re Draco Malfoy!’’

 

###############

_Find this story on[Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/story/192205494-the-balancer%27s-eye)!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1- I know that it's canon that Harry can't find Draco in the Room Of Requirement because the room doesn't allow him to enter. I changed it so they could have that talk.  
> 2- As for the first chapter, I think the Sectumsempra incident occured in about May 1997, but I can't be really sure. I changed it so in the story it happened in January. Anyhow, I thought it was important for me to comment on it.  
> 3- In canon, Harry took the Head Auror position in 2007. I postponed it a few years in TBE. You'll see why. 
> 
> I think that's all. What did you think? I'll read your comments below!


	3. Why Pamper Life’s Complexities?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the brink of the year 2014 almost ending, Draco meets a curious Lyra and reluctantly gives her a job. Back in 1997, Harry and Draco come to an agreement, and in 2015 Harry unexpectedly realizes that he has a newfound power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from ''This Charming Man'' by The Smiths. 
> 
> Hello! After giving it much thought, this week I came to the decision of changing the story title from ''Renegades'' to ''The Balancer's Eye''. 
> 
> Truth is, from the beginning, I didn't plan to title it ''Renegades'', but it stuck for a few months while I worked on the plot. But I think I finally found a name that fits.
> 
> That being said, I also designed a new cover. You can check it out on the first chapter layout and tell me what you think in the comments(◕‿◕✿)
> 
> (I got inspiration to Lyra May's physical treats from the model Nastya Kusakina, if you were wondering) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! I will be extremely thankful if you leave a kudo and a comment:)

**‘‘But I owe it to the subject to say, that it has long afforded me what philosophy is so often thought, and made, barren of –the fun of discovery, the pleasures of co-operation, and the satisfaction of reaching agreement.’’**

**―** **J. L. Austin** **.**  


***

_St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. December 2014._

Harry’s first lucid realization came as the feeling of being abruptly pulled out of the water only to be submerged again. He could barely make out the distant sound of machines beeping and someone yelling. The feeling came and went a few times before Harry finally gasped and subsequently broke into a coughing fit as he tried to take his first fresh breath in...

What day was it?

He forced himself to remember. Blurry images floated to the surface of his mind. Ron fighting. Hexes being thrown all over the place. Seamus pushing Harry away and taking a blood orange blast to his torso.

The electrocardiograph floating besides his bed went crazy as Harry kept gasping for air. ‘‘Seamus,’’ he croaked, agitated. ‘‘Seamus!’’

‘‘Bloody hell, we need help here!’’ Swore someone he couldn’t recognize over all the loud sounds resonating through the four walls. ‘‘Harry, you need to calm down, mate, please...’‘

The doors to the room flew open as a middle-aged mediwitch burst in. ‘’Healer Orpington to the Janus Thickey Ward!’’ The woman yelled. Two mediwizards ran in as Harry tried to step off the bed only to fall back down when none of his limbs responded. ‘‘―need support for stabilization... patient with high levels of stress and anxiety...’’ Harry felt two pairs of hands pin him down to the bed and a third pair forcefully open his mouth to make him swallow a dark purple liquid, which Harry could recognize as _Sleeping Draught_.

He turned his gaze to his right side, where he found the familiar face of his best friend with a frantic look in his eye. Harry could feel his body go number as the seconds passed. ‘‘Ron,’’ he pleaded, but he didn’t get to hear the response before his eyelids completely dropped.

Harry begrudgingly welcomed the clouds into his head and the familiar darkness invaded his body once more.

|||

The next time he became aware of his surroundings, Harry felt decidedly calmer and drowsy: both side effects of the _Sleeping Draught_. He felt as if he had been hit by a _Stunning Spell_ repeatedly. Every single bone on his body was aching, and his muscles hurt like he’d engaged in endless physical activity lately –only that was most definitely not the case.

He slowly opened his eyes and flinched when he saw only a bright, white light. The smell of antiseptic filtered through his nostrils and he blinked repeatedly to get his eyes used to everything around him. The realization that he was in St. Mungo’s struck him, but he couldn’t find the force within himself to shake and scream like he’d done when he first woke up. Instead, he settled on the feeling of a comforting weight on top of his right hand before he opened his mouth to speak.

‘‘Ease into it,’’ Hermione reprimanded fondly. There were tear tracks on her face. ‘‘You’ll hurt yourself. Here, drink this,’’ she ordered, and carefully lifted his head to put a cup of water on his lips. Harry drank obediently.

He cleared his throat once. ‘‘Mione,’’ he rasped. ‘‘What happened? Why am I in here?’’

Hermione’s lips formed a thin line. ‘‘Harry, what do you remember?’’

‘‘Um...’‘ Harry frowned. The memories were blurry, but they were there nonetheless. He closed his eyes and ignored the throbbing headache that was clouding his thoughts. ‘‘We were looking into a dark artifacts case. One of the men threw a spell at me... I think it was the Entrails Expelling Curse...’’ His breathing got more agitated as he spoke. ‘‘Seamus pushed me away. The curse hit him,’’ Harry muttered in painful realization. He turned his pleading gaze towards Hermione, and he didn’t need to ask before she spoke.

‘‘Harry, you just woke up,’’ Hermione warned through her trembling lips. ‘‘We were advised against stressing you. There’s no way of knowing what will happen if you get agitated...’’

Harry sighed shakily before interrupting her. ‘‘Hermione, where’s Seamus?’’ He asked, but it came out more as a demand than a question. He could feel his heart beating abnormally fast against his ribcage.

Hermione shook her head stubbornly. ‘‘Harry, please, I can’t...’’

‘‘For fuck’s sake!’’ He snapped at her refusal to talk. ‘‘I can take it, Hermione, just tell me!’’

She bit her lip nervously before more tears welled out of her eyes. ‘‘Something went wrong,’’ she confirmed with a wobbly voice. ‘‘Something went terribly wrong, Harry... not just with Seamus, but with you―’’ Hermione exhaled a shaky breath. ‘‘He held out for a few days,’’ she answered and held his hand tighter against hers. A blinding feeling of dread came upon him. He wasn’t sure if it was to stop herself from crumbling, to put up a strong façade in front of him, or if it was to prevent him for going crazy as he’d done when he first woke up. ‘‘But the curse is too strong, Harry. His body gave up two days ago,’’ she murmured, and the pain in her voice mirrored the pain that he was feeling.

Harry felt the grief make its way into his body, and a strange surge of warmth he’d never felt before fought its way out. His blood boiled with an intensity he wasn’t familiar with. He clenched his fists as the feeling grew stronger.

Suddenly, every piece of glass in the room exploded.

***

_The Dragon’s Den Apothecary. December 2014._

‘‘By Merlin, you’re Draco Malfoy!’’ The young girl exclaimed and openly gaped at Draco’s face.

Draco left the trunk full of Polyjuice bottles on top of the counter and turned to look at the curious girl. She was tall and slender, and her hair, which barely reached her shoulders, was of a pleasant chestnut colour. Although she was taller than average at her age, he could tell she was young only by looking at her face. She possessed rather pointy features, yes, and even though there was undoubtedly a burning fire in her eyes, she still emanated a slight innocent aura that Draco himself had lost at... what, fifteen, sixteen, tops?

‘‘I am indeed,’’ he said impassively. The tone in her voice left no room for doubt that she knew exactly who he was. ‘‘And you are?’’

The girl reached her hair to put a few rebellious strands behind her ears. There was the noticeable wave of a glamour charm around it. ‘‘I can’t believe it! Draco Malfoy,’’ she whispered in a brief display of emotion that he couldn’t name. ‘‘Sorry. So sorry. Lyra May,’’ the girl –Lyra– babbled as an introduction and extended her right hand towards him.

Draco stared at it. ‘‘It’s nice to meet you, Lyra,’’ he said and shook her hand, feeling a few sparks go through his arm. ‘‘You’re... quite energetic. Can I help you with something?’’

‘‘Oh!’’ She exclaimed and blushed again. The red tint of her cheeks was even more noticeable in contrast to her pale skin, and her green eyes brightened. ‘‘Blimey, sorry. It’s just that you’re the first celebrity I’ve ever met, and I–’’

‘‘Celebrity?’’ Draco interrupted, incredulous. ‘‘Child, I am no celebrity. Where did you even get that idea?’’

Lyra gaped like a fish. ‘‘Um... I’ve read a lot about the War... and I’m such a big fan of you, like really, going against You-Know-Who’s orders? That’s like the maximum proof of courage, right there! Of course, almost everyone talks about Harry Potter, and don’t get me wrong, he’s _amazing_ too,’’ the girl gushed, starstruck. ‘‘...but you actually lived with him and spied for the Light side for about a year, like holy–’’

Draco held a hand up. ‘‘I’m going to stop you right there,’’ he said and tried to ignore the blush that was threatening to climb up his face. ‘‘As enlightening as your emotion is, I don’t suppose that you came here to mention all the things I already lived,’’ he chastised in an icier voice than he’d intended to use. 

He closely observed the girl, who was clearly in awe of him. Having lived with the daily reminder of his actions before, during and after the war, he was used to the mention of any of those events being accompanied by a string of very delightful words, a hex, and in those cases were the person was feeling particularly creative, even a curse thrown his way. The fact that this teen did none of those things was as refreshing as it was discomforting. It most certainly threw him off balance.

He didn’t know how to deal with it.

‘‘Of course,’’ Lyra replied and seemingly tried to compose herself. She swallowed audibly. ‘‘A friend of yours told me you were looking for an assistant. I came to apply for the job.’’

Draco raised an eyebrow. Yes, it would’ve made perfect sense. _If I’d actually been in need of an assistant._ ‘‘May I ask what this friend of mine is called?’’

The girl bit her lip nervously, a trait Draco himself was familiar with. ‘‘He didn’t say,’’ she frowned. ‘‘He just came up to me, gave me this address. Said I was desperate for a job, and I am. Desperate, that is.’‘ Lyra sputtered. Draco snapped his eyes up to her face in horror.

‘‘So. Let me get this straight,’’ he spoke, disbelieving. ‘‘You’re actually in need of a job, and a complete stranger approached you with an equally strange address saying there was a job waiting for you, and you actually trusted it?’’ Draco’s voice was tinged with suppressed anger. What if the man had been a pervert? Surely the girl had more self-preservation than that. ‘‘Did it even cross your mind that it may have been a plot to kidnap you?!’’

Lyra’s scowl took him by surprise. ‘‘It sure did. I’m not stupid,’’ she remarked. ‘‘But as I said, I’m desperate. And I know how to defend myself.’’

Somehow, he doubted that. Draco himself learned to duel until he was about fifteen, and even then, it left much to wish for. Almost all his dueling knowledge came from... well, it came from his days as a Death Eater, but learning how to defend himself was practically a law, especially while he lived under people like aunt Bellatrix. He didn’t think this girl had actually needed to learn such defensive methods unless...

‘‘Salazar,’’ he muttered and massaged his temple. ‘‘Where are your parents, child?’’

The girl turned her gaze to her feet and mumbled unintelligibly.

‘‘What was that?’’ Draco asked, not having heard correctly.

‘‘I don’t have any,’’ she repeated loudly, and looked at him defiantly in the eye. ‘‘I’m an orphan.’’

Draco leaned on the counter. ‘‘I see,’’ he replied monotonously. ‘‘How old are you? Do you have any immediate family I can talk to?’’

Lyra frowned from where she stood. ‘‘I’m seventeen. And no, there’s nobody,’’ she answered. ‘‘I mean, there’s bound to be someone, I guess. I just don’t know them. I was raised in an orphanage,’’ the girl explained, but her face betrayed no emotion.

And yes, he understood. That explained pretty much everything. Salazar knew what background the girl came from, but she was fairly young to be looking for a job at all, let alone at an apothecary. Suddenly, it dawned upon him that the girl said she was seventeen. And if she was here, that meant she’d come of age quite recently and therefore not allowed in an orphanage anymore. As barbaric as it was to throw a kid out in the streets, the truth was that the system was incredibly outdated when it came to orphaned children, and there weren’t many orphanages because there weren’t many orphans either. Not in England, at least.

Logically, he knew that orphanages mostly had their own schooling system, but most of them were lacking in the quality of education required to pursue a career, but Draco didn’t have it in him to dismiss her just yet. The only way to know if the girl was completely capable of learning the art of potion making was to test her. And how would the kid learn if no one gave her a chance?

His heart dropped to his stomach _. But she’s not exactly a kid anymore,_ Draco thought and groaned silently. He didn’t even know the girl and felt drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain. He was already considering sheltering her, for Merlin’s sake!

‘‘Alright,’’ he said and walked behind the counter to sit. With a wave, he encouraged Lyra to walk closer. ‘‘I assume you know the basics of potions brewing?’’

The girl nodded eagerly. ‘‘I do, sir!’’

‘‘I can only offer to make you my apprentice,’’ Draco admitted. ‘‘I’m afraid that making you my assistant would get me in trouble with the Ministry, and trust me, they’re not pleasant to deal with.’’

‘‘I understand,’’ Lyra chimed, smiling shyly. ‘‘I don’t like them too much, myself.’’

Draco felt his lips quirk up in amusement. ‘‘Very well, then,’’ he replied smoothly. ‘‘And Lyra? I need all your magic focused on the making on the potions,’’ he declared a bit loudly. At the girl’s confused frown, he clarified. ‘‘That means you’ll have to drop the glamour.’’

***

_Hogwarts Castle. February, 1997._

Potter had been angry. Not at him, Draco realized, but at _Dumbledore_.

It made sense, in a way, for him to be mad, but it was also completely useless. What good would ever come out of that anger? Absolutely none. What was done was done. Draco had sworn to be a spy if he wanted his crimes to be forgiven when the time came. If he wanted his mother to be spared.

The choice had been far easier than taking the Dark Mark.

They weren’t friends. They didn’t even like each other. Maybe a long time ago they could have been, but that chance had been thrown out of the window the moment Potter rejected his offer of friendship back in first year. And gods, had Draco been bitter about _that_. He’d spent most of his years at Hogwarts looking for a fight with the git in retaliation, riling him up to the point where their relationship was beyond fixing. So why in Salazar’s name was Potter angry, let alone on his behalf?

Draco watched as Potter moved his hands frantically and continued his rambling about the _unfairness_ and the _nerve_ Dumbledore had to ask such a thing of a teenager. He wanted to laugh, but the sight of the great Harry fucking Potter going as far as defending his honor was just so bizarre that he couldn’t mutter a single word.

‘‘He’s a child!’’ Severus roared, his eyes bulging out.

Dumbledore sighed as if they were bothering him. ‘‘I know,’’ he admitted calmly. And Merlin, did this man ever get the slightest bit agitated? ‘‘And so are you, Harry, for that matter. I don’t see you complaining over the part you play against Voldemort.’’

Potter was fuming. ‘‘I have no other choice!’’ He exclaimed. ‘‘Malfoy just wanted an out, Headmaster! If he came to you, he obviously wants no part in this!’’

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘‘ _He_ can talk for himself, Potter!” He snapped, finally having enough. ‘‘I’m not going to pretend like going to live back under the same roof he lives in doesn’t make my insides churn, but I want to help! And I can get some important insight on –”

‘‘Professor Snape is already a spy!’’ Potter interrupted stubbornly. ‘‘Why do we need another one?’’

‘‘Because he wasn’t tasked with killing me.’’ Dumbledore finalized. Draco turned to gape at him, surprised that he’d revealed such a thing.

He’d gone to him and confided what the Dark Lord had asked for him in secret. Draco hoped that the knowledge would make Dumbledore take action, but he didn’t expect him to make it public.

The silence was so thick they could her a needle fall.

Severus cleared his throat. ‘‘That’s exactly what worries me. Draco will not be able to carry out that task. He can’t return to the Manor and face the Dark Lord not having accomplished what he was asked to do...’’

‘‘Well,’’ Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. ‘‘We must make sure he doesn’t fail, then.’’

|||

‘‘I can’t believe him!’’ Potter exclaimed when they left Dumbledore’s office. Draco himself was shaken. Did the Headmaster actually expect him to...? ‘‘Does he actually think you will kill him?’’ Potter asked, voicing his thoughts.

Draco didn’t answer right away. He let himself be led outside the castle, in the direction of the Wooden Bridge. Memories of when he received the Dark Mark last summer invaded him: the pain searing through his skin, the sickening smell of burned flesh in the air, the way it felt to be the vessel to such dark magic. The source of unlimited power making its way into his body, and the shame and horror that came with the knowledge that the flow of said magic through his veins only made him a slave, a servant with no other choice but to comply with whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do. It wasn’t liberating as Father had promised. It was the complete opposite.

So he’d decided to talk to Dumbledore. It was no secret that he was the head of whatever organization fighting against Voldemort. Talking to him and confessing everything was supposed to mean that he was safe, free from the Dark Lord’s claws. It had come as an unpleasant surprise when he asked him if he would be willing to return to the Manor in the summer and gain as much intel as he could on Voldemort’s plans. It had been an order disguised as a question, so Draco agreed, on the condition that his mother, too, was to be spared of her crimes.

Now, Draco was having some serious doubts about his choice of alliance. ‘‘I certainly hope not,’’ he replied, feeling slightly off balance. ‘‘Because I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it.’’

Potter must have heard something in his voice because he turned to him with an understanding look in his eye. ‘‘You may be many things, Malfoy,’’ he said, looking at the mountains in the distance. Hogwarts seemed much bigger when there were no students running from one place to another, and while it was strange being out so late in the night, neither of them could bring themselves to retreat to their respective dorms. ‘‘But you’re not a killer.’’

‘‘I don’t know that,’’ Draco sighed. ‘‘Dumbledore thinks it’s the only way the plan will work. But I...’’ How could he voice that the mere thought of raising his wand in the Headmaster’s direction made him want to throw up? How could he explain that the only time he’d actually managed to torture someone was because Bellatrix had tortured his mother to motivate him? How could he admit that he’d cried himself to sleep for days afterwards?  

He was a sick excuse of a Death Eater. That was why Voldemort had tasked him with a job he was destined to fail.

‘‘When you tried to _Crucio_ me...’’ Potter started, bringing the bathroom fight to light. ‘‘It didn’t take, Malfoy. You have to actually mean it for it to work, but it didn’t. That’s how I know that while you’re a huge arse, you’re not really a killer. It’s not in you.’’

Draco huffed. ‘‘Potter, we all do horrid things when someone we love is on the line.’’

‘’True enough,’’ he conceded. ‘‘Although you can’t deny that some people do it just for the thrill of it.’’

‘‘No, I can’t,’’ Draco hummed in agreement. ‘‘Salazar, I can’t believe I’m actually having a civil conversation with you right now.’’ And that was the understatement of the century. The lack of hexes being thrown was baffling, but it seemed that both of them were far too drained to continue the rivalry that marked their relationship.

The incident in the bathroom had left him scarred forever, but at the same time, it really had changed things for good, settling them both on even grounds.

Potter cracked a disbelieving smile at that. ‘‘Yeah, me neither,’’ he said, and the wood creaked when he leaned on it. ‘‘I still don’t like you, though.’’

Draco snorted. ‘‘Oh, the feeling is entirely mutual, Scarhead,’’ he replied. ‘‘Don’t think that just because I’m on your side now, I’ll start hanging around you bloody pig headed Gryffindors. I’ve actually got standards, you know?’’

‘‘Didn’t expect any less,’’ Potter smirked. ‘‘It’s not like we want you around, anyway. But... for the sake of our eventual triumph over You-Know-Who, we might as well come to a truce,’’ he offered, extending his right hand towards him.

He stared at it for a few seconds in thought. ‘‘We might as well,’’ Draco echoed, and shook Potter’s hand.

The thrill that flowed through his body made him shiver, but Draco ignored the anxious part of him that told him something was bound to go wrong. And Merlin, of course things would go sideways. Only the gods knew what kind of things were upon them, what the Dark Lord would do should he find out of Draco’s treason, or how he would proceed if he ever got his hands on Potter again. _No_ , Draco corrected himself. It wasn’t even an _if_ , it was a matter of when: the fight that was sure to ensue between the Dark and the Light was upon them. He dreaded the day it would happen. Draco didn’t even dare to consider the possibility that Potter may not make it through the war, but the thought was there nonetheless, and it worried him to no end.

For now, though, Draco pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and let himself enjoy the moment, as strange as it was. He recognized the look on Potter’s face, the one that said he planned to cause pure mischief. It was a truce in the middle of dark times approaching them, of course, but it didn’t mean that they couldn’t have their fun.

Ignoring the knot in his gut that Dumbledore had left him with, looking at Potter’s smirking face, he felt lighter than he had in months.

And Draco would take whatever he could get.

***

_Arbour Hill Cemetery. Dublin, Ireland. January 2015._

Harry sat on the second row of chairs as the Head Auror gave a speech in honor of Finnigan, but the pain he felt in his left arm left little to no room to pay attention to his surroundings.

When Hermione had given him the news of his former classmate’s demise, Harry’s weakened core had caused a blast in St. Mungo’s and gave all the mediwizards a big scare. After agreeing to be under calming charms to keep his magic controlled, Healer Orpington instructed him to return to St. Mungo’s for further examinations right after the funeral ended. They’d all been quite reluctant to let him leave the hospital without them knowing exactly what was wrong with him, but Harry had vehemently put his foot down and told them where they could shove it.

He owed his life to Seamus Finnigan. And he would never forget that.

The funeral took place in a cemetery in Ireland. His mother, a lovely old woman with freckles and a deep Irish accent, had asked for the traditional ceremony to pay respect to a fallen Auror to take place in his home country as a final goodbye. The Aurors had agreed, all feeling grief over the cheery Finnigan, who was always willing to offer his help to those in need. Hundreds of people attended: his extended family and all from the Ministry and former classmates who had spent some time with the man.

It was a beautiful ceremony, albeit heartbreaking. But nothing prepared Harry to deal with Dean Thomas.

The grief had become almost unbearable to all those who had been close to Seamus. Harry himself was no exception. But Dean... Dean looked utterly destroyed, and nobody could blame him. No one actually knew exactly how deep the relationship between those two went.

‘‘I thank you all for coming today,’’ Mrs. Finnigan said in a loud voice, snapping Harry out of his stupor. On her right, her husband grasped her hand tightly in his. ‘‘If anyone would like to say a few words, it will be extremely appreciated...’’

Silence filled the air for a few seconds before Harry stood from his seat with a wince and a limp in his step. Everyone’s eyes snapped to his direction, filled with pity. It’d been years since he was the target of so much attention. He would’ve thought he’d be used to it by now, but it was still extremely bizarre for him. He ignored them as best as he could. He held back his tears when he stood beside Seamus’ coffin.

Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat. ‘‘Seamus Finnigan was many things,’’ he began and put his hand on top of the oak coffin. ‘‘He was a son, a grandson, a partner, a coworker... But to me, he was a friend,’’ he said in a hoarse voice. ‘‘I knew him since my early days in Hogwarts. We were part of the same house. We were roommates. I remember... I remember him accidentally setting our bedspreads on fire once. We were so pissed...’’ his voice wavered and the wet chuckle left him inadvertently. A few people smiled at the story. ‘‘What I mean to say is... Seamus was always one of the few people I could trust. I could never find that easily. The bond that formed between us in result is still to this day one that I cherish to the bottom of my heart. I owe him my life, and his loss pains me deeply. He was taken from us too soon... Mr. and Mrs. Finnigan, I am so very sorry for your loss. I can only hope that the gods grant your family prompt peace upon this tragic event. Should you ever find yourselves in need of anything, I will be willing to help, no questions asked,’’ Harry finalized and nodded his head to Mrs. Finnigan, who was openly weeping. She opened her arms and hugged him tightly.

‘‘Thank you, my boy... You too were one of his best friends...’’ She told him quietly. Harry hugged her back and a few tears fell.

‘‘So that’s it, then?’’ Dean’s voice resonated through the mass of people. ‘‘Seamus dies for you and you have the nerve to come here, completely healthy when it should’ve been you who was hit with the curse?!’’ He yelled bitterly as he approached him. A few people gasped.

Harry stood protectively in front of Mrs. Finnigan. ‘‘Dean...’’

The man didn’t waver. He took his wand out and pointed it at him threateningly. ‘‘It should’ve been you, Potter,’’ he repeated.

‘‘Dean, this is not the time nor the place!’’ Hermione exclaimed and she tried to get him to lower his wand.

Dean didn’t listen. Instead, he turned to her and muttered, ‘‘ _Stupefy!_ ’’ to promptly send Hermione flying into a tree.

Harry ran towards her to check on her but Thomas sent a _trip jinx_ his way and he tripped over his own feet, getting a mouthful of mud in result.  He spat it out stood slowly from where he laid, slightly trembling over the fall. He turned to look at Dean and felt a shiver travel down his spine.

The other man didn’t give up, so Harry tried to defend himself as best as he could without causing permanent damage. He was holding back for his sake, but it was extremely hard to do so when Dean kept throwing the nastiest hexes he could think of his way. People ran from one way to another to escape the fight, not wanting to get in the way of two powerful Aurors dueling. Harry tuned out their screaming and focused on Dean, who was looking more murderous than he had a few seconds before. Harry’s knees gave out involuntarily.

Suddenly, a blood orange blast came out of Dean’s wand and Harry barely ducked. He blanched when he realized that Dean was actually trying to kill him with the same curse that had killed Seamus. His ears buzzed and he breathed heavily from where he knelt on the ground. He tried to hold his anger back, to keep it inside him, but it kept fighting its way out of his body, and Harry could do nothing but to let it out.

It was the same odd feeling he’d gotten in St. Mungo’s but incredibly multiplied: warmth flowing through his body, blood boiling to the point where he felt like he might burst. Harry distantly noticed the sound of his own heart beating nonstop. His grip on his wand tightened. His heart rose as his senses sharpened and became completely aware of his surroundings. Everything seemed to go slower as he turned to look at Dean. Harry could see the man’s mouth moving as he threw spell after spell and his frustration grow when he didn’t even manage to land one. Harry didn’t even need to dock out of the way, because he’d simply cast a protection shield around him unconsciously. He felt as though he was dazed, but deep inside he just knew that he was more aware than he’d ever been in his life. He acted on instinct, and he felt out of depth as he moved. It was an out-of-body experience. Every move and sound made Harry’s back hairs prickle in warning.

The silence was deafening when Dean cast one final curse. Harry laughed bitterly when he heard him. Apparently, his coworker had chosen to cast an Unforgivable as a last resort to beat him.

He didn’t even need to mutter a single spell to put Dean Thomas down.

The blast of magic that surged from his core was enough.

 

###############

_Find this story on[Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/story/192205494-the-balancer%27s-eye)!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost:  
> I'm sorry for killing Seamus. He's actually one of my favorite characters in canon:( but I needed a tragic event to push Harry to new limits. 
> 
> Also:  
> How cute is Lyra gushing about Draco to his face? 
> 
> What do you think is wrong with Harry?
> 
> Leave me a comment to let me know what you think!
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> K.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a work of fiction. All characters except original characters belong to the Harry Potter World, which is trademarked by J.K. Rowling. I do not claim ownership over them or over the Harry Potter World. 
> 
> This story is not a part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and it is not a part of the official storyline. I also extend my admiration to J.K. Rowling for the creation of the Harry Potter World, for without her books, my work would not be possible. 
> 
> That being said, this story is entirely of my own creation, and while I do not own the Harry Potter characters, I ask for this story to not to be copied or republished without my written consent. 
> 
> This story contains the following: graphic descriptions of violence and sexual content. Please refrain from reading if you don't agree with the latter situations. 
> 
> © 2019 BLUEMADHOUSE


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